Pressure
by Just An Inkling
Summary: Charlie is secretive, and Ian is annoyed, and Don is worried like no body's business. Migraines suck. Multichapter, Ian/Charlie.
1. Chapter 1

Admittedly, not my first Numb3rs fic, but the first without useless OCs inveigling their way into everything. Disrespectful OCs are disrespectful.

Either way. Yes, this is Ian/Charlie. Don't judge-they're perfect. Screw canon.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

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><p><em>Pressure<em>

His second set of keys clinked noisily in his pocket as he pushed open the apartment building's door. He grimaced and shoved a hand into his pocket to silence the offensive noise.

"Hey, Charlie," the superintendent greeted from the front desk. Charlie raised a hand in response and shuffled to the elevator.

God, please let this not be another huge migraine, he thought miserably, leaning against the back wall of the elevator car as it pulled upwards. He pulled his cell phone out of his other pocket and squinted at the lit screen. No, he was still in Nevada for another week, out of cell range and out of reach. The ache behind Charlie's eyes intensified as he slid it back in his pocket. Migraines suck, he thought.

The elevator deposited him on the fourth floor of the building. He stumbled to his door and dislodged his keys from his pocket, the metallic clinking and the rustling of the plastic bag on his arm grating on his tired nerves. His shaking hands pushed the key into the lock and turned the knob with it, admitting him into the cool darkness.

All he wanted to do was lay down. It was all he'd wanted to do all day, but only when he started feeling nauseous did he decide it was time to call it quits. Luckily, he had the apartment within walking distance of CalSci, and didn't have to risk driving in his impaired state. He dug in the cabinet above the stove for his medication, fumbling with the childproof cap in the dark.

Two pills, a glass of orange juice, and as close to certainty as his befuddled mind would allow that the doors were locked and no window was left uncovered. Charlie swallowed his medication and chase it with a sip of orange juice, ignoring the pitch and toss of his stomach as the liquid hit bottom. Ah, bed, he thought, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Charlie shoved all thoughts of FBI formulas from his mind and curled up under the blanket. He turned off his phone and set it on the nightstand before rolling over, praying sleep came quickly.

-x-x-x-

"Charlie, it's Don. Call me back ASAP. C'mon, Buddy, I really need you to call me back." Don punched a button on his cell phone to end the call with altogether more force than necessary. 'Colby," he barked, catching sight of the younger agent coming out of the elevator. "Anything?"

"Not at his office, and Amita, Larry, and Millie haven't seen or heard from him since day before yesterday," Colby said apologetically. "David and Megan are canvassing the area around the campus. You okay, man?"

"Fine," he snapped tiredly. He deflated a little at the look Colby shot him. "Charlie doesn't just leave without calling. Never," he said.

"Don, we'll find him," Colby assured, and after a moment's thought, he rested his palm on Don's shoulder, his fingers curling around the material of his shirt in a comforting squeeze. "It's only been a day and a half, we'll find him."

"Yeah, I hope so," Don sighed, shoving himself out of his desk chair. "Pull security feeds from all businesses, ATMs, and anywhere else you can find them in a ten-block radius of CalSci. Maybe we can piece together a map from that," he said, grasping at straws.

Colby nodded, recognizing the desperation well enough not to comment on it. "Will do," he opted for instead, and headed back towards the elevator.

Don paused by the corner of his desk, looking at his cell phone. He picked it up and dialed the familiar number again, holding the phone to his ear as he slipped into the empty war room. "Charlie, it's Don. I just called, but I need you to call me back. Right now. Let me know you're okay, Buddy, I'm worried about you."

-x-x-x-

LAX was swiftly becoming Ian Edgerton's most frequented airport, even with as queasy as flying made him. It was so much faster than his old habit of cross-country road trips to his cases, and the more time he could spend in LA, the better.

His duffel bag rolled on to the carousel and landed against the edge with a dull thump. Briefly, Ian was grateful for his decision to send his rifle back to LA by mail rather than pack it in a suitcase for the journey home.

His cell phone found its way out of his pocket as he swung his duffel bag onto his shoulder. His first thought was to call Charlie, but when the phone went straight to voicemail, he shrugged it off-he was probably engrossed in some equation covering multiple blackboards. Maybe he'd drop by CalSci later and surprise him. Ian dialed Don's number and held the phone to his ear as he walked out to the parking garage.

_"Eppes."_

"Don, it's Ian. How's the office?"

_"Hectic,"_ Don sighed._ "You heard from Charlie lately?"_

"No, not since last week. Why," Ian asked, suspicious about Don's tone. "You haven't pissed him off, have you?"

_"Not that I know of,"_ Don said. _"I can't get a hold of him."_

"Really. I tried calling, but it went straight to voice mail. I assumed that he was working for you or something."

Don sighed. _"We haven't seen him in a day and a half. I was hoping he'd told you where he was."_

Ian threw his bag in the back of his truck and climbed behind the wheel. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes, don't go anywhere," he growled. He snapped his phone shut and jammed his keys into the ignition, trying to squelch his growing worry with anger.

If Charlie was really missing, panicking was decidedly not an option.

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, this update rate is pretty atypical for me. But my day was difficult, and tomorrow's not looking much better, and I decided I needed the review attention more than I needed the consistency of an update schedule. And this was written anyway, so.

Also, on the subject of reviews: Why is it that people who are going to criticize me always use unsigned reviews? I would love to respond, but I would really rather not use my author's notes to do it. I'm more than willing to debate my reasoning in as civil and non-hostile a manner possible, if you'll give me an avenue to do so.

Just saying.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

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><p><em>Pressure<em>

"Ooh, wait. Here he is."

Larry pushed his rolling chair over to where Amita was parked in front of one of the FBI's monitors and squinted at the footage she was rewinding. "Where is this from?"

"Convenience store ATM, on..." she shuffled through a series of documents. "Pearl Street. Two blocks from CalSci's north parking lot."

"That's not where Charlie parks. He parks in the east lot, doesn't he," Larry muttered, studying the monitor carefully. "Why would he be going that way of his own volition?"

"I don't know," Amita said, leaning her arms on the desk. "But he's going north on Pearl Street-it's a starting place, anyway."

Larry rolled over to his own computer and shuffled through his own copies of the documents for the video files. "North on Pearl..." He referred to a map littered with colorful dots and and sorted through the stack of paper, placing it into piles. One he arranged neatly next to his borrowed keyboard and the other he tossed in the trash.

"Any luck, guys," Megan asked, poking her head into the room. She was as desperate as any of them, maybe more so by extension of Don's worry.

"We found him headed north on Pearl Street from the campus," Amita said, pulling up the video clip for Megan to see. "We're still working on where he went after."

"Alright, cool," Megan said. "Oh, by the way. You guys have a visitor."

Larry turned to look at the door to find Ian Edgerton leaning against the metal frame. "Agent," he greeted politely before returning to the task at hand.

"Professor," Ian returned, leaning against the back of Amita's chair.

"We're working on narrowing down a search area for David and Colby to canvass later-with any luck, we'll have something in a few hours."

Ian shuffled through her stack of papers, looking at their video prospects. "The proverbial needle in a haystack," he muttered.

"Our prospects are better than they were," Larry supplied helpfully. "From a ten block radius to this one street, exactly."

"Better, but not ideal," Ian said, his displeasure obvious. He tossed the stack back to Amita's desk and crossed the two strides back to the doorway. "I'm with Don when you find something."

-x-x-x-

The room was dark when he woke up. His head felt like a car bomb had just gone off ten feet away-everything was quiet and ringing in his ears at the same time. Charlie moaned weakly and pushed his head out of the comforting cocoon of his blanket, squinting blearily at the darkened room.

Cautiously, he attempted to sit up as slowly as possible, mindful in the most primal way of his queasy stomach. All thought was hazy to the point of nonexistent-Charlie blinked languidly and squinted at the half-full glass of orange juice sitting on his bedside table. How long had he been asleep? Five hours, six maybe? No numbers, he decided, the thought swimming distorted in his brain.

His legs shook under him as he crawled out of bed. The bedroom pitched around him as he took one unsteady step towards the wall, and then another. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a halting breath as his hand flailed out for the stability of unmoving drywall.

Medication, more juice maybe. Charlie used the wall to stumble blindly down the hallway, wondering if he left the pill bottle on the counter. Administering his own dosage would be risky in this state, but the sooner he got back on his feet, the sooner he could get back to work, without people asking questions. Migraines weren't something anyone had to worry about, and with all the other things Don and the rest of the team had on their plates, worrying if their consultant would be incapacitated for hours at a time, or stranded somewhere when the next one hit. He wasn't about to set that kind of a variable with them.

Charlie's other arm flailed over to the counter as he shuffled into the kitchen. His eyes opened the barest crack to find the pill bottle sitting on the edge of the counter next to the stove. He found a glass in the drying rack next to the sink and turned on the tap, counting to four-was it four?-before turning it off.

The lid was still off his medication from when he last took it-what little consciousness he had praised God, the universe, whatever governing forces may be that he didn't have to worry about a roommate getting into an open pill bottle. He measured out one, two pills into his palm by touch and shoved them in his mouth, swallowing the contents of the glass to chase them down. The liquid hit his stomach with a sickening sliding feeling, reminding him he hadn't eaten in a while. He grimaced and went for the cupboard, wondering if he had anything that wouldn't aggravate his nausea any more.

Distantly, he recognized the familiar white plastic of saltine cracker packaging on the top shelf. He reached for it, gratified to find it was already open from his last migraine.

Medication, and basic sustenance. Charlie shuffled back to the bedroom, one hand still on the wall for support-his legs were getting more unsteady by the second-and sank to the bed, curling up against the pile of pillows near the head and munching on a cracker.

Halfway through his third cracker, Charlie pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and curled up into a loose ball, setting the package on the nightstand next to his dormant cell phone. The warmth from his last few hours spent in bed enveloped him and coaxed the drugs out further into his system.

Sleep came quickly this time.

-x-x-x-

Don pushed open the door to the Craftsman, holding it to allow Ian to bring his bag inside. "Dad?"

"Donnie," Alan said, abandoning his crossword puzzle. "Any luck?"

"No, we're still looking," Don said, sounding vaguely defeated. Ian smacked him as discreetly as possible.

"Oh," Alan said, looking past Don to Ian. "Ian, always a pleasure."

"You as well," Ian said. He'd always liked the older man-down to earth, pragmatic. Clear-cut.

"You'll be staying for dinner," Alan said, offering little, if any, room for argument.

Ian grinned. "You know you can't get rid of me," he said.

"Wouldn't try." Alan disappeared into the kitchen and came back holding two beers. "Hey, you haven't heard from Charlie lately, have you?"

Ian fought a grimace at the burgeoning hope in the man's voice. "Not for a week and a half, Alan," he said, regretful he couldn't tell him anything better. Funny, regret was a foreign concept to him until he fell in with the Eppes family. He cared about them more than he cared about his own family, it would seem.

"Well," Alan said, sweeping his disappointment under the rug. "He'll turn up somewhere. It's only been three days, right?"

Don took a swig of his beer and sank to the couch. "God, if something happened..."

"Don't think like that," Alan reprimanded. "Pasta'll be ready in a few minutes." He disappeared back into the kitchen, clearly agitated.

Don sighed. "Does he know about..."

"Yeah," Ian said. "Charlie, ah, wanted him to know. Why, rescinding your approval?"

"No," Don said, maybe a little too quickly. "No, I have no issue with it. Still not sure how I feel about the whole not telling me for eighteen years thing, but...I'm good otherwise." He grinned easily, despite the circumstances. "Besides, I know where you work, if he comes to me crying."

"God help me," Ian laughed. Somehow, they both knew that Charlie wouldn't be the one crying in the event of a relationship problem.

"And between you and me, Amita was never going to be good enough for him like that, anyway."

Ian smiled at the casual approval and took a sip of his beer. "Glad you think so."

Don's phone interrupted any continuing suggestion of a conversation. Groaning, he set his beer on the coffee table and dug it out of his pocket, squinting at the caller ID. "Hey, Amita... You what? Okay, slow down... What's the address of the building? Sweet, thanks," he said, suddenly energized.

"What, did they find something," Ian said.

"Charlie showed up on a security feed in an apartment building lobby six blocks from CalSci," Don said. "I'm going to see if anyone knows anything."

"At eight at night," Ian asked skeptically. "Even with my lack of business hours, that's an obscene time to be rattling a civilian's cage."

"You can stay here," Don snapped dismissively. "Either way, the clock is ticking, you know that."

Ian shrugged. "Alan, something's come up. We'll be back in a couple hours, probably."

"Probably," Alan groused. "Go, protect the innocent. I'll hold dinner."

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Kinda on schedule this time. Awesome. More sick!Charlie and worried!Ian and panicky!Don. Because we love them much, all of them.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

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><p><em>Pressure<em>

"Excuse me, miss," Don started, walking up to the front desk. He flashed his badge to the young woman stacking mail for the boxes behind the desk.

"Oh, _hell_ no," she scowled. "I do background checks on _all_ my renters, I have cameras and _everything_, I don't _do_ criminal activity! _Nothing_ illegal happens if I have a say in it. One strike, you're evicted."

"You're the superintendent," Ian asked.

"Budget cuts," she said, gesturing to the desk. "I'm work the lobby at nights, too. What do you people want, I already gave you my security footage."

Don stifled a smile. She was upset, but not belligerent, clearly exasperated with the upset caused by the impromptu investigation. The whole thing would be almost comical, under different circumstances. "Miss, we just need to know if you've seen this man in the last three days." He slid a print out of Charlie's faculty photo across the desk and watched her study it for a second.

"Oh my god, has something happened to Charlie," she said, looking between Don and Ian and the photo with wide eyes.

"We'd like to find out," Ian said. "Have you seen him?"

"I saw him come in three nights ago, haven't seen him leave yet. But that's how it is," she shrugged.

Ian and Don shared a look. "How what is," Don asked.

She took the photo and studied it, distracted. "He'll come in at night and then leave a day or two later. Just hole up in his apartment. He always looks really tired when he comes in, though, so maybe he just sleeps. I don't know. What I do know is he's never stayed this long."

"Wait, he's a tenant here?" Another look passed between the two agents. Why would Charlie rent an apartment with the house just a short drive away from campus?

"Yeah. Rents an apartment on the fourth floor. I have a key right here, if you need to see it," she said.

"You haven't seen him leave in three days," Ian confirmed.

"No, so unless he left by the fire escape, he's still here."

Don looked at Ian and then back at her. One hand moved to his gun, and beside him he felt Ian do the same. Three days was a long time not to leave an apartment, even with Charlie's tendencies when he was working on a problem. "Let's see it," Don said, watching her reach for her keys.

-x-x-x-

Alan jumped at the knock on the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. The only people who bothered knocking this late were FBI. "What's happened now," he muttered, muting the TV and going to answer the door.

"Ah, hi, Mr. Eppes," Colby said, rocking back on his heels on the porch.

"Colby," Alan said, mildly surprised. "Come in, please." He stood aside to let the youngest of Don's team into the house. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Ah, you know," Colby exhaled, wavering just inside the door. "Just wanted to, y'know, see how you were doing with this."

"Choosing to believe Charlie went on a fishing trip and forgot to tell everyone," Alan said. "Worry isn't going to get anyone anywhere."

Colby cracked a smile and nodded. "Does Charlie even know how to fish," he asked.

"No, but he likes this one river up by Split Mountain, just to go and think," Alan said, feeling like he was somehow speaking well of the dead. He shook his head, disturbed by the feeling. "Care for a beer?"

"Nah, I have to drive home. Thanks, though." Colby glanced around. "Don and Ian still at the office?"

"They got called out again," Alan groused, heading into the living room. "I'm surprised you're not with them. Are David and Megan out as backup?"

Colby frowned, eyebrows drawing together. "I haven't heard about anything going down tonight. Are you sure they were out on business?"

Alan raised an eyebrow at him. "Have you ever known either of them to leave mid-beer except on business?"

"Good point," Colby said slowly. "You know where they went?"

Alan shook his head sharply. "All I know is that someone from the FBI called Don, and he and Ian left. I think Ian took his beer with him, too."

"Figures," Colby said, unable to suppress a chuckle. He may not like the fugitive hunter, but he couldn't deny that the senior agent was a person all his own. Taking a beer on a potential tactical situation would definitely not fly with anyone else. "Would you excuse me for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," Alan said dismissively, taking a seat on the couch.

Colby dug his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, mentally cycling through the list of all the people he could call. Don was out, Charlie obviously not an option, and Ian was just scary-did he even have Ian's number at all? Megan might be at the office, but David was definitely out on a date. Lucky bastard, Colby thought fleetingly, settling for Megan's speed dial.

_"Reeves."_

"Hey, Megan, it's Colby. Did Don get called out for something and I just missed the memo? I think my phone's been on."

_"Aaaah... No, Amita found Charlie on a security cam in the lobby of an apartment building near CalSci. I guess she called Don before she told anyone else."_

"I think Don and Ian went to go toss the place..." Colby placed a hand over the mouthpiece of his cell phone. "Hey, Alan, how long ago did they leave?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe?"

Colby turned back to the cell phone. "Left about twenty minutes. Ignoring the fact they're together, think they need backup?"

_"Meet me in the CalSci parking lot, I'm going to call Amita and get an address."_

Colby nodded. "Awesome." He hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket. "Hey, Alan, keep the phone handy, I'll probably be calling with news pretty soon."

Alan started. "About Charlie," he asked, unable to keep the hope from blossoming anew in his tone.

"Probably about Charlie, yeah."

Alan stood and moved with startling speed to the dining room and grabbed the cordless phone. "I'll be waiting," he said, and Colby could hear that he was already waiting for that phone call. The agent nodded grimly and offered a small, encouraging smile as he went for the door.

"I'll call with news," Colby promised again, heading back out to the car.

-x-x-x-

Charlie twitched and blinked sleepily, still shaky and out of it. In the inky darkness, he briefly wondered if he was still at his office and had just fallen asleep on the couch. H was sore enough for that, certainly, and any hint of thought was fuzzy at best. The last thing he could remember was working on that algorithm for Don and not being able to pin it down-it was entirely possible that he'd laid down and didn't remember doing so.

The sound of someone pounding on a distant door sent a wave of pained nausea tumbling up to his throat, chasing bile and nothing else out of his stomach. He choked and sat up warily, sliding his legs unsteadily from under the blanket. His bare feet touched carpet, but his rattled mind ignored the implications of the sensation - that he was definitely not in his office - as he flailed out his hand for the lamp outline he could vaguely see in the dark.

The bulb flickered to life, obscured by an old t-shirt tossed over the shade. Charlie squinted into the warm glow, ignoring the voices calling on the other side of the distant door. He saw th trashcan in the corner and took one shaky step, then two, to bring it closer to the bed. He spit the pile that had escaped his stomach into the half-empty bag and reached a quivering hand out to turn off the light. His eyes hurt badly enough without it.

The voices stopped, and on the frayed edges of his battered awareness, Charlie heard a door squeak open. Too tired to care who was in his apartment uninvited, he curled back up under the blanket. Whoever they were, he didn't care what they wanted.

"Charlie," one voice called. I paid my rent for the month, he whined to himself, covering his head with the blanket. Go away, just let me sleep.

"Charlie, you in here, Buddy," another voice called. A click registered somewhere, and Charlie squeezed his eyes closed as unjust light crashed in from the hallway. He moaned and pulled a pillow from behind his head, pushing it on top of his face to keep the light and noise from aggravating his nausea.

"Charlie," the first voice said, this time significantly closer. The bedroom ceiling light flicked on, flooding through the pillow.

"God," Charlie moaned, curling in on himself. "Stop it, turn it off," he whined.

"Charlie," the first voice said again, sounding relieved and worried at the same time. The light flicked off again, and Charlie relaxed a little bit. "Don, he's in here." The mattress shifted on one side. "Hey, baby, you okay?"

"No," Charlie moaned. A hand gently pried the pillow away from his face, exposing it to the light from the hallway. Charlie retched as pain bolted through his skull, leaning over to the trash can. The hand that had pulled the pillow away fell to his back, rubbing careful circles until his stomach settled again and he shoved himself back to the pillows, shaking violently from the dry heaving.

The mattress dipped on the other side as someone else sat down. "Hey, Buddy, you feeling okay?" A hand brushed his hair off his forehead, feeling for a temperature. Charlie chanced another bout of nausea to crack his eyes open and see who was sitting on his bed.

Ian slid one arm behind him and helped him sit up, pulling him back into his shoulder for support. "Babe, what's wrong," he asked quietly, rubbing the skin under the hem of Charlie's sleeve.

"Migraine," Charlie mumbled, exhausted by the wave of nausea. He leaned into Ian's shoulder, grateful for the help in sitting upright. The hug he found himself enveloped in calmed the shivering a little, but not by much.

Don picked up the cell phone and half-consumed package of saltines on the nightstand. The phone was off, which explained why they hadn't been able to get a hold of him. "You've been here for three days?"

"What?" Charlie attempted to lift his head off of Ian's shoulder, only to be thwarted by the sniper's hand in his hair. Ian shushed him and stroked the unkempt curls, trying to reassure himself that Charlie was okay, if only comparatively so, given all the alternatives. "Days? S'only been...few hours, maybe," he muttered.

Don and Ian shared a look. "Baby, it's Wednesday night," Ian said. "You've been off the grid since Monday."

* * *

><p>Please review.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Because I think I've established that the best schedule is none at all. And also, hooray filler chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

* * *

><p><em>Pressure<em>

"Don," someone called from the front door. Don started and leaned back to look down the hallway.

"In here, Megan," he called back. Charlie winced at the volume and pushed closer to Ian's t-shirt. "Ah, sorry, kiddo," Don said, his tone falling back to a safe number of decibels.

"Don, wha's going- Ooh, Charlie," Megan said, appearing in the doorway. "What happened?"

"Migraine," Ian answered, struggling for his legendary calm. If there was ever a time for it, that was now.

"Oh, honey," Megan cooed. "Colby, in here."

"Yeah," Colby said, making his way down the hall. "You have any idea what these are? I barely know what _my_ pills do half the time."

Megan accepted a small orange bottle and squinted at the label in the light from the hallway. "Triptans, Charlie's prescription," she read. "Hey, Colby, get me a glass of something from the kitchen, will you?" She glanced at Charlie, shaking and nearly collapsed into Ian's side. "Something with sugar in it, please. Juice, maybe. Sweetie, when was the last time you ate anything?"

"He's confused," Don supplied, absently stroking the back of Charlie's hand with his thumb. "Lost more than two days."

"And he just threw up a few minutes ago-nothing came up," Ian added, feeling the rise and fall of Charlie's breathing slow down against his chest. "Come on, baby. Don't fall asleep on me."

"Hoboy... Colby," she called, and muttered an apology when Charlie moaned weakly. "Colby, go start the car for me, okay? We need to get Charlie to a hospital."

"What? Why," the youngest agent said from the kitchen. "I thought he had medication."

"Low blood sugar," Megan supplied. "It's kind of a miracle he's still conscious. Please, Colby?"

"On it," he said, and seconds later the door opened and closed with an inconsiderate bang. "Don, give me your keys. I'll drive your car back to pick up Alan, and you two can ride with Charlie."

Distantly, Don dug his car keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. "It's across the street," he said, watching her pocket the keys and head back for the front door.

"Colby'll meet you in front of the building," Megan said as she retreated down the hallway. "Call me when you get there, alright?"

"Will do," Ian said, moving around Charlie to push the blankets off his legs. "Alright, Charlie," he said, making sure Charlie's head was still on his shoulder. "Here we go."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut as he was moved against his will, one hand clutching at Ian's t-shirt. Ian paused to let his boyfriend get used to the change in elevation before carrying him down the hallway to the front door. A carton of juice stood on the counter, and out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Don put it back in the fridge before grabbing a keyring from next to the toaster and following him out the door. "You're okay, Buddy," the eldest Eppes son muttered as he pulled the door shut behind him. Ian thought it was more to reassure himself than anything else. He resisted shifting the mathematician any more than strictly necessary and followed Don to the elevator.

-x-x-x-

Another knock on the door startled Alan out of a rerun marathon he wasn't really watching. Fear and hope co-mingled as he went for the door-had they found Charlie? Was someone going to have to escort him to the hospital, or worse, the morgue? Had something happened to Don, effectively robbing him of both sons? His hand fell on the doorknob, and suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to open it.

Megan was waiting on the other side, her expression one of carefully calm concern. "Hi, Alan," she said, offering a pleasant smile that did nothing to ease his nerves. "Can you come with me? We found Charlie."

"Oh!" Alan felt the mix of anticipation and terror churn at the news, and he started looking around for his shoes in the mess by the front door. "Aha, here we go. Any, ah, anything I should be prepared for?"

Megan smiled and watched him slide his loafers on over a pair of argyle socks. "Nothing terrible. He just had a migraine and was hiding out until he felt better. Except for pretty low blood sugar from not being able to keep anything down, he'll be just fine."

"So he's at the hospital," Alan inferred, following her out of the house onto the porch.

"But not going in an ambulance, Colby's taking him and Ian and Don. My guess is they'll probably give him a nerve suppressant for the migraine and a couple IVs to make up for the fluids and blood sugar he lost and he'll be good to go by morning," Megan assured him, leading him out to the SUV.

"Well," Alan said, the nerves easing a bit. "At least it's not the alternatives."

"Absolutely. All things considered, Charlie's fine," Megan said, sliding behind the wheel. "I think Ian and Don are the ones we might have a problem with. They're freaking out."

"Don I can understand, knowing how he was with Charlie when they were kids," Alan said, settling into the seat as she pulled out of the driveway. "And Ian... I don't know."

Megan glanced at him as she coaxed the SUV to a safe residential 25 miles per hour. "How are you with it? Ian and Charlie."

Alan shrugged. "Whatever makes Charlie happy, and he certainly seems happy enough with Ian. But... I don't know. I'm still adjusting."

"They've only been dating for nine months," Megan allowed. "It's not like they're staring down their fifth anniversary, or their fifteenth. I needed a little time to adjust to the idea of anyone with Ian, much less Charlie with anyone but Amita."

"Amita," Alan repeated, grimacing at the young woman's name. "Do you know that she knew about Charlie all along, and just did...this to help him keep up appearances? For us?"

"Charlie's sensitive, Alan, and he wants Don's and your approval more than anything. He probably couldn't imagine a scenario where you knew and weren't disappointed or angry."

"He's known since he was a teenager," Alan continued, as though she'd never spoken. "And he didn't even bother considering being up front about it with us. Like we weren't worth his honesty."

Megan sighed. "Alan, I'm sure it's not like that. I know from Ian that Charlie was really anxious about telling you, even seven or eight months after he'd been seeing Ian. He needs to know that you still love him, even though your idea of what he should be, and some aspects of the person he became don't quite sync up."

Alan sighed. "I know. I would hope he knows that, too. And honestly, I don't have an issue with Ian, or with Charlie, it's just... He could've told me, told his mother. Been honest with us. It wouldn't have mattered. He'll always be Charlie, regardless of who he falls in love with. Doesn't matter."

"Sure sounds like it does," Megan said, turning out of the neighborhood.

Grimacing, Alan thought about it for a second. "I suppose you're right."

Megan offered a small smile. "Well. You can tell him all that at the hospital. Or when he's a little steadier on his feet, maybe."

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Alright, last official chapter. Last one's the epilogue, and then I might take a few reader questions. Just for giggles.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

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><p><em>Pressure<em>

Charlie took a deep breath and shifted on the hospital bed, blinking his way out of sleep. The light streaming through the window didn't hurt for the first time in what apparently had been days, and he could hear himself think again, the haze of pain and malnourishment that had obscured any brain activity lifted like ocean fog blown clear by a morning breeze. He paused to savor the free flow of conscious thought before rolling his shoulders against the pillows.

"Hey, baby," Ian said cautiously next to him. His fingers curled around Charlie's delicately, like he was made of glass. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," he sighed, sitting up a little bit. "I never thought it'd be so nice to _think_ again."

Ian chuckled and brushed Charlie's hair away from his forehead. "Well. It's nice to see you semi-human," he said. "Had me scared for a while back there."

"If I wasn't in the hospital over the whole thing, I'd laugh at you," Charlie grinned, lacing his fingers into Ian's. "Ian Edgerton, sniper extraordinaire, Man of Steel Nerves, scared by a lowly _math professor_. Ha. Haha."

"Shut up," Ian said fondly, without venom. "Your dad was by a while ago. Don took him to go get breakfast."

"Mm, breakfast sounds good," Charlie said absently. "I'm hungry."

"You should be, you haven't eaten in almost a week," Ian pointed out, ever helpful.

"Obviously," Charlie yawned, "or I wouldn't be here."

"Don't be a smart ass."

"Can't help it. I'm genetically unable to be anything_ but_ a smart ass. Ask my family."

Ian laughed and leaned over to kiss his nose. "I really missed you, you know," he muttered, inches from Charlie's face.

"Now you know how I feel," Charlie muttered back, one hand reaching up to touch the side of Ian's face. "Stick around a while, maybe?"

Ian smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but was conveniently stalled by a knock on the door. "Are we interrupting," Don asked, the corners of the question turning upwards in a grin.

"Yes, beat it," Charlie answered without looking at him, distantly annoyed that his moment alone with his boyfriend-the first in three weeks-had been stolen from him. He promised himself he wasn't going to let Ian leave until he'd gotten his fix again, and let Ian lean back in his chair before sitting up a little. "Hey, Dad. How'd the Lakers do?"

"Fine, fine," Alan said, pulling a chair over from the wall. "How are_ you_ doing?"

"Better," Charlie assured him, leaning into the nearly hesitant touch the older man laid to the side of his face. "That one did a number on me."

"Jesus, kid, you sound like me," Don chuckled. "Don't do that, it's scary."

Charlie smiled a little and tugged Ian's hand onto his lap. "Any ideas when I'll be cleared to leave?"

"Hey, what's the rush? You just got here." Don's tone was light, but Charlie couldn't suppress a little bit of a wince at the fine print - _Don't be in such a rush to get back on your feet, Buddy. Another one of these might knock you back off again, and I don't like how close I came to losing you this time._

"'What's the rush?' You spent two weeks in the hospital, and you're asking me 'what's the rush?'" Charlie grinned, watching Don digest some fine print of his own - _Stop worrying about me, Don. I've been doing this for longer than you even want to know, I've got a handle on this. It's not usually this bad, anyway._ "I'll tell you what the rush is, the food here sucks."

Ian laughed. "Hey, be good, and I'll treat you when they post bail. How's that sound?"

"Mexican omelets," Charlie asked hopefully, no fine print involved. "You know my feelings on Mexican omelets."

"Yes," Ian sighed, without any real reluctance. "I can make Mexican omelets. But I need to go shopping. I doubt your dad keeps cherry peppers around the house."

"I'm good with shopping," Charlie said.

"Huh-uh. If I go shopping, I'm dropping you at home first," Ian warned. "None of this walking around crap, not for a few days. Weeks, if I have my way."

"Yes, _Mom_," Charlie retorted with a laugh, before casting a not-quite-subtle glance at his father. The older man was watching him and Ian with interest, if not downright curiosity, and suddenly, Charlie was that uncomfortable seventeen year old again, trying to come up with another BS answer to explain why he didn't want a girlfriend, not like his brother. Ian squeezed his hand to draw his attention back, and was rewarded with a grateful smile.

_I could live for that smile,_ Ian decided, in a fit of sentimentality he thought had been trained out of him at Quantico. Would wonders never cease.

Apparently, Don saw every corner of the exchange, and grinned. "Hey, Ian. I'm going to go hunt down an nurse, see if I can't interrogate the location of possible release papers out of someone. Wanna come?"

Ian squeezed Charlie's hand one last time and kissed him delicately. "And then we'll see about those omelets," he murmured against Charlie's lips, feeling them curve into a smile as he pulled away.

"Love you," Charlie said, releasing his hand as he followed Don around the end of the bed. "Don't beat anyone up."

Ian laughed and shut the door behind him and Don, leaving Alan alone with his son._ Ah, I see what you did there, Don,_ Charlie thought without any bitterness. It was time he actually talked to his father, rather than the hit-and-run coming-out he'd sprung on him two months earlier, before intentionally getting caught up in a whirlwind of social and job-related activities that left little room for actual conversation, much less any further airing of uncomfortable truths.

Alan stared at the door for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Charlie," he began, and then paused as if he was staring down a fork in the road, unable to decide which course of conversation to take. "You know, I was talking to Megan in the car, on the way over to the hospital last night. And she said...that maybe I haven't been as...supportive as I should have been. With you and Ian."

Charlie grimaced. "No, Dad, I was just being irrational. I know you love me, I know that whatever I do can't change that, I just... You were so set on me being happy with Amita, so happy about the idea of _us_, that...I just kind of let that be what was happening. If that makes sense."

"It does," Alan assured half-heartedly. "And I have no issue with it. Amita is a lovely girl, but I'm happy enough with you just being friends. I just...wish you would have told your mother. Been honest with her, before she died."

A small laugh escaped Charlie. "Oh, believe me, Dad. She knew."

"She what?"

Charlie grinned. "Let's just say, while I was at Princeton, she ah, walked into the laundry room to find me on top of the dryer with a high school debate team captain from the neighborhood. I think she almost had a heart attack."

"Oh," Alan said, digesting the visual. "I, ah... Oh."

"I asked her not to tell you or Don. I was...wrestling with it, at the time. I told her I wasn't really sure if I was just experimenting at that point, or...if this was the way it was going to be. She told me to be safe and talk to her if I got into trouble and to tell you and Don myself when I was sure of what I was doing. And then... well. I was sure, but not sure about you or Don. She kept needling me to tell you, but I'd always chicken out. I didn't want to upset you, and then she was diagnosed, and... It was never a good time."

Alan sighed. "I...suppose I can appreciate that."

"I think Don might have beaten me up, to be honest," Charlie grimaced. "I know he was pissed when he found out that I'd been hiding for eighteen years, but when you think about it, he probably would have kicked the snot out of me before he really knew what he was doing if I'd told him much sooner."

"Much as I hate to admit it, probably true," Alan said. "And...you and Ian?"

Charlie grinned fondly at the space between the bumps denoting his feet under the blanket. "Despite knowing what he does for a living and what he's done in his life a little...forgive me for sounding like a total girl here, but he makes me so happy. You don't even know."

"That's all that matters, then," Alan said, attempting a decisive tone. "I have no issue with it, Charlie," he said again. "I just wish you would have told me sooner. But what's done is done, no sense worrying about it now. And knowing you weren't keeping the secret from your mother...that's a weight off my mind."

Charlie smiled and reached for his dad's hand. "Thanks, Dad."

"So..." the eldest Eppes exhaled. "What was this high school debate team captain's name, by chance?"

-x-x-x-

"Ack, Don, for the love of almighty Jehovah, get _off_," Charlie laughed, waving him away from the couch.

"Hey, don't use my religion against me," Don protested, grinning back. "And don't go running off, either. I don't want to chase you down more than I have to."

Ian ambled back into the living room, carrying two Mexican omelets. "I have guard duty, don't worry," he said, handing Charlie one plate and a fork. He speared a dislodged corner of omelet and popped it in his mouth, waving Don off with the fork. "Go to work, man," he said.

"Alright, alright. See you when I get home, Buddy," Don said, scooting out the door.

"Finally," Charlie huffed, slicing a chunk of omelet off the side with his fork. "I thought he'd never leave."

"He's worried about you," Ian said helpfully, earning himself a pair of rolled eyes. "I'm worried about you, too. Hey- I know what you're going to say, and don't. You_ never_ slow down. Not saying I'm not guilty, but I know where my limits are."

"So do I," Charlie insisted petulantly. "I take a break every once in a while."

"When you get a migraine? That doesn't count, that's forced downtime, and you don't let yourself get all the way back up before you're off headed for the next one." Ian set his omelet on the side table and moved to sit on the edge of the couch. "Come on, you're paying rent on a_ second_ place just so you have somewhere to go when these hit at work. What happens when you're out in the field with Don, or at some conference somewhere? What happens then?"

Charlie sighed and wrapped his arms around Ian's waist, laying his cheek on the strong shoulder in front of him. "I figure it out as I go," he said, knowing as he said it that the excuse was as lame as they come.

"Charlie, that's like being a functioning alcoholic. It ignores the problem instead of fixing it."

"Whatever works," Charlie said into Ian's t-shirt. He knew he was being stubborn, but wasn't it better when he was the only one dealing with the fallout from these things, instead of pushing it off on his boyfriend or his brother or his dad? He just felt guilty when they were worrying about him all the time. _This way, everyone wins_, he thought.

"No, not 'whatever works'," Ian said, pushing Charlie's head off his shoulder so he could look at him. "Listen, I would _like_ very much to help you with this. Don't push me away here, alright?"

"That's funny, coming from you," Charlie said without thinking, lips quirking upward in a smile devoid of malice.

"You hush," Ian said, pulling Charlie back towards him with something close to exasperation.

Charlie curled up as much as he could against Ian's side as the gun callouses moved along his t-shirt. "Hey," he said quietly, more breath than word.

"Mm?" Ian shifted a little to look down at the head of curly hair on his shoulder, smiling without thought.

"I kinda sorta think I love you," Charlie said, looking up with a small smile.

Ian grinned back and kissed his forehead. "Nice to know we might be on the same page there, Professor," he said.

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><p>Please review.<p> 


	6. Epilogue

An epilogue that's just pure fluff. What could possibly be better, right? Right, guys? ...Guys?

**Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Numb3rs. If I was, it would still be on air. And we'd see more Ian. All the time.

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><p><em>Pressure<em>

_Epilogue: Six months later_

Ian paused in the doorway of the office, setting his duffel bag just inside the room. For several minutes he was content to lean against the door frame, watching Charlie scribble incomprehensible formulas across the clear expanse of Plexiglas in front of him with multicolored markers. The photos taped to the edges of the board denoted an FBI case, something very time-sensitive if his frantic movements were anything to judge by. Ian watched him cap his marker and take a step back, cocking his head as he rechecked his work. The felt tip emerged again as he erased a piece of his formula, and he scribbled something else in its place, glancing at the photographs.

One hand reached out for the frame, gripping it with as close to white-knuckles as was entirely comfortable. Ian counted five seconds-Charlie didn't move-before exhaling quietly and moving forward.

Charlie jumped a little bit as two arms wound around his waist, startling him out of the numbers on the board. "Ian," he protested in a breathy, nervous laugh. "I didn't... Do I have to say it anymore?"

"No," Ian laughed, pulling Charlie down on top of him as he sank into the desk chair. "You feel okay?"

Charlie opened his mouth thoughtlessly to assure him everything was fine, before catching himself on Ian's decidedly not-amused look. "My head hurts," he sighed reluctantly, resisting the impulse to lay his head on Ian's shoulder. "Just stress, I'll be fine."

"Have you taken anything for it," Ian asked, looking around for any sign that Charlie had left sometime today. A packed laptop case, a food wrapper in the trash can, anything... And there was no evidence to be had.

"No, my prescription is still at the apartment," Charlie said, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the pain.

Ian nodded absently. Charlie had insisted on keeping the apartment near campus, but the only time he was there-to Ian's knowledge-was when he was in town. It was nice to have somewhere to come home to, or even just the illusion thereof. Ian had started leaving his stuff there, first by accident, and then on purpose, like he was testing the limits of what he was and wasn't allowed to do. Maybe one day I'll finally move in, he thought, the idea intriguing. Maybe he'd ask Charlie what he thought.

When he wasn't quite so dazed, of course.

"Come on," he said, and helped Charlie stand from his place on Ian's lap. His arm slid around the professor's back as he followed, and guided them both to the door. As he went, he slid Charlie's laptop into it's case and collected his duffel bag from by the door, slinging them both over his shoulder. The contrast of the elegant leather and the worn, dirty canvas was fitting, in a way. Indicative of something.

"Ian, where are you taking me," Charlie chuckled tiredly, having long since despaired of ever getting a straight answer. Ian did what he wanted, both with work and with Charlie. After the past year, Charlie had gotten to a place where he could just shake his head and smile.

"Home," Ian said, his hand still on Charlie's back. A couple female students smiled at the pair, giggling appreciatively. He rolled his eyes and led the way to the parking lot, bypassing Charlie's Prius for his own Toyota, left in the parking lot for a week while he was on a quick run for the woefully over-extended Marshals. "You can finish that up later."

"But-"

"No," Ian said, tossing his duffel bag in the bed and sliding Charlie's bag under the glove box. "Which would Don prefer? You catching a killer, or you killing yourself with a migraine?"

Charlie huffed, but allowed Ian to help him into the truck without further protest. "You're never going to let that go, are you," he muttered as Ian moved to close the door.

Ian smiled and leaned over to catch Charlie's lips in some marginally sincere apology. "You don't really expect me to, do you," he asked before closing the door on Charlie's answer.

"I'd say I'd prefer if you didn't hover, but truth be told, I like the attention," he said as Ian climbed behind the wheel.

The engine thrummed to life as Ian slipped it into reverse and reached over for Charlie's hand. "Good," he said, pulling out of the parking space. The unspoken Because you know I won't quit fell around them like a perfect blanket.

"So, how's Montana this time of year," Charlie asked, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. The movement of the street was becoming painful to watch, and Ian's hand in his was a good enough anchor.

"Cold," Ian said with a short laugh. "I got to see a couple old friends of mine, which was nice. Good times all around."

"No one died?"

"No one that wasn't supposed to," Ian said. "Why do people think that running to Montana is a good idea after they've killed someone? It's like Florida for cops. Everyone retires there."

Charlie exhaled a breathy laugh, feeling Ian's thumb shift around his wrist to caress the heel of his hand. The callous near the joint rubbed against his skin, like untreated leather. Charlie offered a small squeeze and smiled. "You should ask for a transfer," he said, off-hand like it was nothing more than a passing thought. He and Ian had discussed the possibility before, and the outcome was always the same:_ I have to talk to a few people before I make a decision._

"You know, I've been thinking about actually retiring," Ian said, startling Charlie into opening his eyes. "Come on, don't look so surprised. We've talked about it before."

"You said you'd _transfer_, not _retire_, and I thought you had to talk to people before you made a decision?"

"What do you think I do when I'm not with you?"

"Chase bad guys?"

Ian grinned. "Besides chasing bad guys."

Charlie smiled back and concentrated on the warm skin curled around his hand. "So, hypothetically. What would you do if you retired? Just hang around CalSci and bug me?"

"Maybe," Ian said, and chuckled at the look Charlie shot him. "I actually have some friends out here that do firearm training courses. They're always looking for new teachers."

"That'd be cool," Charlie muttered, exhaling slowly. His migraine was getting worse by the second.

Ian glanced at him, worry spiking again. "Bad?"

"Getting there," he said weakly.

"Five minutes, and then you can sleep, okay?"

-x-x-x-

"Yeah, he's fine, just a stress migraine... No, he was working on something for you, and I made him quit. ...Yeah, you're welcome. I'll have him back to CalSci- Okay, that works too. Good luck with that. ...Yeah, see you tomorrow, Don." Ian hung up and set his phone on the coffee table, sock-clad feet stretched out on the couch. He took a sip of his beer and set it back on the carpet by the arm of the couch, his hand returning to the keyboard on the laptop open on his legs.

"Mmm. Ian?"

The sniper sat up and closed his laptop as Charlie wandered out down the hallway. "Hey, babe. Right here."

Charlie offered a sleepy smile and padded over, curling up against Ian's side when he made it to the couch. "Anything interesting happen while I was out," he asked, his bare feet tucked under Ian's jeans.

"The president was assassinated, and Sesame Street was cancelled," Ian said casually, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulders.

"Sounds like anarchy," Charlie commented. "But all the satellites are still in orbit, right?"

"See, this is the difference between you and me. I tell you that we have no leader and one of the greatest television institutions of all time has bit the dust, and you're worried about objects in _space_. What's wrong with you," Ian laughed.

"Much," Charlie chuckled, resting his head against the side of Ian's neck. "Who were you talking to?"

"Don," Ian said, shifting Charlie to a slightly more comfortable position. "He said to keep you home for a few days, and he'll have one of your students copy down your formulas and bring them over if you feel like you have to work on them."

"Did he sound mad?"

"Not a bit," Ian assured, absently combing his fingers through the tangled bedhead. "I told you, he doesn't want you killing yourself with stress here."

"Mm," Charlie hummed, eyes falling shut again.

"You feel better?"

"Much, thanks. We staying in for dinner?"

"We can," Ian said. "What sounds good?"

"I don't know, you pick," Charlie sighed. "I'm good with anything right now."

"Chinese it is, then," he said. "You get the menu, I'll call?"

Charlie unwound himself and ambled to the refrigerator, where all manner of takeout menus were held hostage by an army of magnets. "Do we want South China Garden, or that one place on Fourteenth?"

"Doesn't the place on Fourteenth have the really good egg rolls?"

"But South China Garden is closer, and therefore delivers faster," Charlie said. "So good food, or fast food?"

"Good food, every time. Waiting won't kill anyone," Ian said, extending his arm in an invitation as Charlie shuffled back.

Charlie curled up against Ian's side again and opened the menu on his knees, laying his head on Ian's shoulder. "Yeah, I might just go to sleep right here again," he said, the warm body behind him moving as Ian laughed.

"How about we eat and call it a night, then," he suggested, squeezing Charlie's shoulders. "You think you need another dose?"

"Think we caught it," Charlie said. "You gonna stick around for a while?"

"For as long as I can get away with it. ...Hey, Charlie?"

"Hm," Charlie exhaled comfortably.

"What would you say if I moved in?"

"Like, permanently?"

Ian rested his cheek on the top of Charlie's head. "Yeah. Like, permanently."

"I would be thrilled," Charlie murmured. "You have no idea. Are you serious?"

"No, I'm screwing with you." Ian grinned. "Of course I'm serious."

"Isn't your apartment in Oklahoma or something?"

"So it is," Ian muttered. "I've got a friend in Denver with a box trailer."

Charlie grinned. "Road trip?"

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><p>The end! Hopefully to be followed by a couple oneshots from this same universe in the next few days. We'll see how busy I get.<p>

Please review.


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